


Lavender and Salt

by Kirjava3456airbender



Category: 6 Underground (2019)
Genre: Death, Día de Muertos, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, F/M, M/M, just talking about death, so you know it's accurate babey!, that's the fic, written by an actual mexican
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirjava3456airbender/pseuds/Kirjava3456airbender
Summary: It's a year after the coup and Three can't stop thinking about Six on the day of the dead.(blease suggest a better summary)
Relationships: Four | Billy/Six (6 Underground), Three | Javier/Two | Camille (6 Underground), they're just mentioned tho - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	Lavender and Salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carbonmonoxidepoisoning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carbonmonoxidepoisoning/gifts).



> Most fandoms have at least one christmas fic, I decided to switch it up with a Day of the dead fic.
> 
> Stolen headcanons stolen from Carbonmonoxidepoisoning for Six's backstory and 6underground_ghostfam for the living accommodations.
> 
> This fic was vv inspired by the song "Lavande" by Pomme

Last year, it had been easy. Of course, it had been easy, they had been so busy with the whole coup thing. But this year, it was a free day, no work scheduled, their next mission far away into the future, and he woke up feeling like he was on the edge of tears.

Three had always been an emotional man, with no father to speak off trying to enforce Mexican macho standards on him and a mother who had always encouraged him to wear his heart on his sleeve; he was not ashamed of it. And yet, today he felt guilty about it. 

He remembered One’s face that day on the boat when he told them they would look for a Seven. There had been a sense of finality in the air, of doors closing over them and the hard line of One’s mouth had said it all. Six’s death was a topic that they weren’t allowed to discuss. 

Not even today, on día de muertos.

So he decided not to discuss it with the others, but he had to _something_. And he did it quietly, gathering materials as stealthily as he could (which wasn’t much, but it was enough), shoe boxes and a pretty tablecloth that he was pretty sure belonged to Five. His fingers, felt thick and clumsy while he crafted, and he put as much care into it as he could, but at the end, the altar looked distressingly empty. No marigold, no pan de muerto and worst of all, no picture of Six. And it was weird how much it hurt, that he couldn’t even do this one little thing right for their driver. 

He placed the customary glass of water and cross of salt on the altar and lit as many candles as he could find. Vodka, tequila and cheap beer and well wishes, but he knew it wouldn’t do, not without a picture, to guide Six’s soul back to earth. And that was the whole _purpose_ of día de muertos, spending a night with the departed, luring them in with the warmth of candlelight and offering them a drink.

He hadn’t wanted to do this, but he had to ask Four. 

Three made his way to Four’s room slowly, and he lingered in front of the door before he could bring himself to knock. Four opened the door aggressively, a chuckle dying on his lips when he saw the glum look on the hitman’s face.

“Hey, Three, what’s up?” Three bit his tongue.

“I just wanted… ay, maría de di*s.” He ran a hand over his face and into his hair. “I was wondering if you had a picture of Six.” Instantly he felt awful just for asking, when Four looked as if he had just been punched in the stomach, his face growing pale.

“W-why do you ask?” 

“It’s pretty stupid actually, but um, it’s the day of the dead today and I wanted to add him to my altar?” He didn’t mention that the whole thing was actually _for_ Six, surely any of his dead family members would be in his brother’s altar. Four raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Altar?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s a Mexican thing. We make a little altar with marigold and everything the dead loved to eat while they were alive and we, um, welcome them back into this world again for a night.” And it was strange to feel this nervous about anything, even introducing Two to his mom had been easy, but he didn’t want to hurt Four. Of course, he could just not have asked but día de muertos had never felt so urgent, he felt an itch under his skin about it, like welcoming Six’s ghost was one of the most important things he had ever done.

Four fidgeted with the edge of his t-shirt for a moment, before he nodded.

“I do, actually, come in.” Four’s place was messier than Three remembered, just slightly too full of things, but then again, he didn’t come here often. There were potted plants on every corner, boots and trainers scattered by the door and posters of sleek cars hung on the walls. Huh. He’d never taken Four for a car kind of guy.

He followed Four to his room, the bed was a mess of unmade covers and there was a paused videogame on the gigantic tv. Four reached his mattress and pulled out a crumpled envelope, his mouth set into a firm line as he handed it to Three. It was bursting with pictures of Four and Six.

Three sat on the bed to thumb through them and Four sat next to him stiffly.

The pictures were awful.

Unfocused, tilted and full of lens flares. Selfies with only half of their faces, taken in between of fits of laughter probably, by how blurry they were, a couple of Six kissing Four on the cheek. Most of the ones that weren’t selfies were only of Four, who had obviously been an unwilling model, judging by his blush, the open mouth of someone complaining. Only one of them was of Six alone, taken without the driver noticing, his profile bathed in golden, dusk light.

Three felt like an intruder, gazing upon a heartbreakingly private moment, something that One would have put a stop to immediately. Next to him, Four cleared his throat.  
“Is there anything else you need? For the altar?” Three blinked, he had almost forgotten Four was there.

“Uh yeah, yeah, is there any food he really liked? I put some drinks on it but I don’t really remember what he liked to eat.” Four thought for a moment.

“Do you have time for me to make something?”

“Yeah man, I got all day.”

He followed Four to the tiniest kitchen ever and watched as he put a pot of water on the stove to boil for pasta.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook, dude. You’re normally following me or Five around so we feed you.” Four smiled the tiniest smile, a faraway look in his eyes as he chopped tomatoes for a sauce.

“Yeah, I don’t, not really. But Tonio was adamant about me learning this recipe; it was his nonna’s best dish apparently. Mine was never as his but he always insisted it was great.”

“Tonio?” Four’s eyes widened and he started chopping more aggressively.

“Yeah… That was Six’s name. Antonio.” For a moment, an awkward silence settled onto the kitchen.

“You know you can tell me more about him right? It’s obvious you knew him much better than the rest of us.”

After that, it was as if a dam had broken. In between the sizzling of pans and smells of cooking, Four spoke and spoke about Six. “….And he took me to this delicious little ice-cream place, even though he hated anything sweet…” “… Oh man, he was so jealous that One got to have a dog and we couldn’t…” “…You’d think someone a driver would be better at skateboarding, I mean, it’s just wheels on a slightly smaller scale…” That day, Three got to see a different version of the Six he had known, an Antonio, who had loved his grandma and loved cooking, who couldn’t skateboard for shit but who liked to cheer on Four from the sidelines.

And a different Four too, a Four that went a little quiet sometimes and had a smile reserved for Six. This Four had been _in love_ and Three wondered if he had told Six. He didn’t ask.

In the end, there sat a plate of steaming pasta and Four worried his lip between his teeth.

“Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“The altar.”

“Oh! Sí, of course, c’mon I’ll carry that.”

The picture and the added food definitely filled the altar, it was perfect and Three floundered when Four started crying. He patted Four’s back softly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just, he would have really liked this, Three.” He grinned.

And he was probably right, the altar was lit aflame in gold by the sheer number of candles and although the lavender Three had picked were the wrong kind of flower they still looked right. In the center of it all, the picture of Six, a wistful smile on his handsome face as he looked into the horizon.

“Yeah, I think so too.” He looked at Four, at Billy. “Come here, peque.”

And he held Four against his chest as the brit started sobbing, still smiling through his tears, both of their faces washed by warm candlelight.


End file.
